


Enigma

by Cuidightheach



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, BDSM, Bondage, Light BDSM, Lots of Sex, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Harry Potter, Partners to Lovers, Sex Work, These boys are so stupid, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuidightheach/pseuds/Cuidightheach
Summary: Harry Potter might have fallen for a muggle sex worker, and he might catch Malfoy staring, but what of it? His life wouldn't be right without at least a little bit of drama.A story where Harry and Draco are very obviously in love but neither of them know it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 11
Kudos: 151





	Enigma

Harry Potter could not fall in love with a muggle. He wouldn’t fucking allow it. He wouldn’t put them in danger like that, even if the git did have pretty eyes, and a perfect ass, and even if he fucked him eight ways to Sunday at least once a week. He wouldn’t fall in love with a muggle. He wouldn’t fall in love with a muggle sex worker. He isn’t falling in love with the man he _pays_ to _have sex_ with him. He’d die before he let it happen. But then here he was, and there Drake was, humming under his breath and making Harry’s cuppa in exactly the way he likes it and… oh _Fuck._

-

It started four months ago, in a club that he definitely shouldn’t have been in. George had dragged him there, saying that it was stifling not being able to do things like this with Ron. They were safely polyjuiced and in the heart of muggle London, where he would be unrecognizable in the throngs of non-magical beings. The club was clean and methodical and kinky in a way Harry had barely thought about since he and Ginny split, and even then it was a little over the top. George had gotten them private rooms, signed Harry up as “Hal,” and gave him a key with an exaggerated bow before he waltzed off to do whatever the fuck he had planned for himself. Harry was on his own. 

The club seemed almost like a hotel, with its eerily empty front room and too-quiet hallways. Harry read the number on his key. 432. He walked the halls until he found the matching number, and he knocked. 

“Come in,” a voice rang from the other side of the door, and Harry was nervous. Extremely, nervous. So nervous that he wanted to crawl out of his skin. But somehow the door was opened, and he was walking through it, and then he was in, and it had started. His palms were sweating.

“My name is Drake, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Have a seat.” A gorgeous, tall, sandy-blond boy was sitting on the table in the middle of the room. He had on a loose white button down, and light slacks, and he looked like a goddamn angel. His ankles were crossed and he sat with poise, like he was a prince, like… Harry shook his head. This man looked nothing at all like Malfoy, it was just the way he was sitting and glaring like he owned the place, which, admittedly, could be possible. And Harry did _not_ want to think about his most annoying coworker on a night where he was supposed to be having fun. The man smiled, and Harry eased into one of the two leather chairs. 

“You’re Hal, right?” Drake said, looking to a paper that rested beside him. “You noted that you’re into bondage, breathplay, impact play and denial, but you didn’t write if you’re a Dom or Sub. I can do either, what would you prefer?” 

Harry swallowed. “I’m not really sure. I’d rather be doing it, but I don’t have much practice, I don’t want to hurt you.” He wished he’d taken the shot of firewhiskey George had offered him outside. Drake hopped off the table. Harry had used polyjuice for this occasion, but the bag of hair George had offered him came from a man who looked a surprising amount like him, with dark curly hair and a similar stature, so Harry knew that even when he was normal this man would stand an inch or so above him. Drake was lithe though, with thin wrists and delicate features that were strikingly beautiful. 

“Do you want me to tell you what I want,” the man said, and Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. 

“Sure,” Harry said, and Drake sat in between his knees, close enough to touch. 

“I don’t kiss on the mouth, and I won’t do anything that involves scarring. Try not to pull my hair, but if that’s what you’re really into then it’s fine. My safe word is Chimera, and I don’t need any aftercare, so you’re free to leave when you’re done.” Drake took Harry’s hand in his and kissed his thumb. “We can go slow, you have me for three hours.” Drake’s eyes looked large and lusty, his pupils dilated just from the chat.

“Okay,” Harry breathed, letting Drake draw soothing circles on his hand. “Can you kiss my neck?” In an instant the blond was in his lap, licking a stripe from his collarbone to the sensitive spot behind his ear, and Harry felt arousal curl in his gut. He ran his hands over the long legs that were wrapped around him, and the man purred in his ears, which went straight to Harry’s cock. Harry experimentally flicked his own tongue against Drake’s neck, and his breath hitched excitingly, spurring Harry on. Harry pressed his lips along the slightly stubbly jaw, licked into salty collar bones and nipped at Drake’s soft earlobe. They lapped at each other for what felt like ages. When they were both breathing heavy, Harry ran his hand underneath the gauzy shirt Drake was wearing, eliciting a whine that made him tingle deliciously. 

“What do you want,” Harry choked out, struggling to keep his hips from arching up and grinding into the lap of the man on top of him. Drake’s eyes flashed brilliantly. 

“Can I suck your cock?” He asked, and Harry shivered. He’d never heard anyone ask for that so directly, and it sent electricity zig-zagging through him. He nodded. “You have to say yes,” Drake said mildly.

“Yes.” Harry responded, and he stood up as soon as Drake was off him. “Can I tie you up?” Harry asked, and the blond shrugged.

“If you want to, sure.” Drake picked a spot on the floor and Harry went over to where toys were splayed out on a table that smelled strongly of disinfectant. He grabbed the rope, and then on second thought he also nabbed a bottle of lubricant and a soft paddle. Then, he walked back to Drake and began unbuttoning his flouncy shirt. He grabbed his arms and tucked them behind him, loosely wrapping the rope around Drake’s wrists and slipping his finger between the knots to make sure there was still enough space for him to move around, just in case. He was briefly distracted by the thought of Drake wrapped tightly in the back rope, contrasting with his pale skin and pulling his limbs taut. The man was really too pretty to be real, and Harry caved, nuzzling into the blond’s neck. He smelled like jasmine and apple, crisp and clean. 

Harry shed his own shirt and kneeled on the ground next to Drake, dragging his fingertips over the mountains and valleys of his body, feeling out the hard planes of muscle. When Harry looked up again, Drake’s eyes were hooded and his mouth hung open slightly, taking in short frantic breaths. 

“You’re pretty,” Harry said, blushing despite the fact he had already held this man’s ass in his hands and mapped his neck with his tongue. Drake moaned. Harry smiled. _Jackpot._

“You’re gorgeous, you’re like a painting, or a marble statue. Especially like this. So pretty.” Harry continued, and Drake panted hard, his cheeks coloring so attractively that Harry thought he could sit and watch it forever. Harry palmed himself through his jeans, and he was painfully hard. He unzipped his trousers and tugged his cock free, fisting it a couple of times before he got up to stand in front of Drake. “Suck,” he said, and Drake’s mouth was on him in an instant. It felt electric, and fiery, as though the hot mouth had its own brand of magic and it was casting wicked things with each slick tug. The mouth travelled lower, sucking on Harry’s heavy balls, and Harry nearly fainted with the pleasure of it, his toes curling conspiratorially. Drake moaned around his cock, and Harry had to pull away fiercely, his orgasm threatening him. 

He dragged the blond to his feet. “Get on the table,” he ordered, and he watched as Drake sat back where he had been earlier, tied and flushed. “Can I hit you?” 

“Please do,” Drake arched his back, and Harry stripped himself of his jeans. His head was a rush of adrenaline and arousal. 

“Lay down.” Harry said, and Drake did, pushing himself until he was on his stomach. “Can I take these off?” Harry asked, lightly touching the fabric on the back of Drake’s legs, and his breath hitched again. 

“Yes, yes yes,” came the muffled reply, and Harry lifted Drake’s hips until he could reach the buttons, then he dragged the pants down and off the body in front of him. Drake’s cock brushed against the table and Harry brushed it with his fingers. “ _Fuck_ ,” was the muttered response, and Harry squeezed as Drake keened. Harry adjusted the other boy until he was laying with his dick trapped between his body and the table, and he caressed the milky ass that was on display. 

Maybe George was right, maybe this was exactly what he had needed. He needed to feel someone arch and whine under his touch, needed the rush of power and the heady sense of anonymity. He craved the idea that this man was attracted to him and liked what he was doing, even if it was a lie. It felt good. 

“You’re so good, I’ve never seen anyone be so good,” Harry whispered, and he relished the shiver that coursed through Drake. Harry nodded and brought the paddle down hard on Drake’s lovely ass. Drake yelped and shuddered, but Harry’s hand smoothed itself over the red hot skin before long. He did it again, and again, until Drake wouldn’t stop shaking between the hits, and he began to babble. 

“Please Hal, please I need to come, I’ll do anything, please, I,” Drake shuttered and coughed, and he was exactly where Harry wanted him to be. “Please touch me, it hurts.” Harry smiled at the begging, and he began to slick his fingers with the lube he had grabbed. He kneaded Drake’s red cheeks with his lubed hands, which were cold, and even colder with a silent charm Harry used. It was ill-advised, but Harry was confident that Drake was too far-gone to realize the inhuman chill. He licked and nipped lightly at the raw cheeks, then he tongued the sweet knot of muscles at Drake’s core, causing him to yell out and tense in surprise. He tasted sweet, like floral soaps, and Harry rolled his eyes at the prissiness of it. Then, he dragged his fingers down and pushed lightly, and Drake went entirely limp under him. He was floating somewhere in subspace now, enjoying the overstimulation and gently rocking against Harry’s knuckles. When Harry added another finger, Drake barely flinched. 

Once he was fully prepared, Harry rolled a condom on, slicked up his cock and straddled the man on the table. He pressed in slowly, listening to the man under him breathe in shattered gasps of air. And then he was in, and it was tight and hot and Harry had forgotten how fucking good it was to feel this. Drake was babbling again, “Please fuck me, please please please, let me come please, I’m dying,” he rambled, and Harry pressed his hands into Drake’s back. The angle was too awkward for anything more than shameless rutting, so Harry thought he would push Drake as far as he could, until he broke. Harry pressed down in circles on Drake’s back, massaging with the cooling charm and rocking the tip of his cock into Drake’s soft heat. The man was gasping and shaking again, his arms straining against the ropes. “I’m, I’m gonna come, I’m so close, oh, Hal-” Harry pulled off and stepped away from the table as fast as he could, and Drake cried out into the table, humping on instinct and whining deliciously. “No, no, no, no,” he muttered, and Harry licked the shell of his ear. 

“Be patient,” Harry growled, and Drake stilled but continued to whine. Harry dragged him up by the ropes, until Drake was sitting back on his knees. There was a trail of precum that travelled from Drake’s cock to the pool on the table, and Harry wanted to taste it, so he did. As soon as his lips touched the head, Drake was arching up into his mouth, moaning wantonly. Harry didn’t move, he just let Drake fuck weakly into his mouth until he was gasping again, and Harry grasped the base of the man’s cock roughly, cutting off the imminent orgasm. Drake sobbed at the stimulation and struggled in his bonds even more aggressively than before. 

Once he had calmed back down, Harry walked around and pulled the knots loose, freeing Drake’s hands. Harry carded his hands through the wavy blond hair on his head, relishing the moan that escaped his mouth. He wanted to kiss it, to explore inside with his tongue until Drake came without a touch, but he remembered the rules, and he was already praying that he could do this again. He shoved Drake down against the table again, this time on his back, and caressed the long legs as they wrapped around his waist. He shuddered and pushed back into Drake’s ass, moaning as the man clenched around him. He only had to push in once, twice, before Drake was coming in long spurts over his chest, and he shouted erotically. The pressure of Drake’s orgasm made him rock in pleasure, and as soon as he was done, Harry was fucking him in earnest, gasping as sated eyes watched him beneath long lashes. He came on Drake’s chest, profanities pouring off his tongue. 

When he finished, Drake was still watching him hazily. He was barely there still, and Harry smiled as he kissed his temple. Even though the man had said it was unnecessary, Harry cleaned them both and wrapped Drake in a blanket before he got dressed. 

“Water?” He asked, and Drake lazily pointed to a cooler in the corner. Harry chugged a glass himself and then got one for Drake, watching as a trickle of it ran down his chin. Harry licked the spill up, dangerously close to Drake’s mouth, and he was met with fire when he pulled away. Drake’s eyes were eerily familiar now, a deep grey that was quickly clearing from the fog of submission, and it sent chills over Harry’s body. 

“Okay, well. Thanks.” Harry pressed another kiss to Drake’s forehead and left the room as soon as he was sure he didn’t forget anything. He was all cut up inside. 

-

Harry came back twice more that month, and requested Drake both times.

-

After the second time, Drake watched him curiously as they dressed. 

“I do house calls,” he said, and Harry’s stomach dropped. 

“What?” 

“I do house calls, if you ever want me to come by. It’s the same rate, and sometimes it’s more comfortable. And you’re a respectable client.” Drake was looking at him with those fiery eyes, the ones he always had when they were finishing up their evening. 

“My house is under renovations. I’m living in an apartment right now.” It was a half truth, Grimmauld Place was under renovations, but Harry was the one doing them, so it wasn’t like there was a crew to avoid. But he would be damned if he had to unglamour the gigantic mess every time he had a muggle caller. And he did have a muggle flat in central London, which he mostly used for steakouts (he had purposefully bought it situated down the street from an entrance to Knockturn) and the occasional dinner guest. 

“That’s fine. I’ll give you my work number.”

-

And so Drake came over, and he came over and over and over. On Harry’s bed, on his kitchen table, on the floor, on the desk. And he kept coming over, at least once a week, for a month. And Harry could not fall in love with a muggle. He wouldn’t allow himself, not now and not ever. He wouldn’t fall for him, even when Drake showered in his shower, even when he ate crackers from the box in Harry’s kitchen, even when he kissed Harry’s jaw and whispered about all the things he would do to him. Harry wasn’t falling in love with a muggle, not even a little bit.

-

Life wasn’t just sex and _absolutely_ not falling in love, though. Harry still woke up at five on the weekdays, his body aching. He still showered and prepped and drank his morning tea black. He still rolled his eyes at Malfoy when he walked into the Auror office late. He still struggled to ignore the blond git’s commentary on his bad taste and his disastrous hair. He still ground his teeth when he was forced to run jobs with the arsehole. He still had to control his breathing whenever Malfoy got too close, he still groaned when Malfoy did something annoyingly smart. And when he licked his lips and glared at Harry with fiery grey eyes, Harry ignored it. And when he brought him afternoon tea with a splash of milk and two sugars, well, that was just coincidence, wasn’t it? And when he laughed--actually laughed-- at Harry’s jabs, and Harry’s heart tugged in a completely unwarranted way, well, maybe they were just getting used to each other. Of course. That was it. Harry wasn’t pent up anymore, and now he could occasionally get along with his git of a partner. All was well. 

-

Things got infinitely weirder when Drake said his name. No, he didn’t say “Hal,” like he did when Harry opened the door, or when they said goodbye. He said “Harry,” lightly and softly as he spilled over Harry’s hand, and Harry’s heart broke into millions of little pieces. He pulled away like he had been burnt. 

“What?” He said, even as Drake kissed along his cheekbone and hummed in the afterglow.

“Hm?” He responded, his lashes fluttering. 

“You called me Harry.” Harry should have been elated, he should have felt joy at the sound of his name on Drake's tongue, he should have been doing cartwheels. Instead, he was crushed. Drake was thinking of someone else. He shouldn’t have been hurt, he should have just ignored it, but it stung. The way they had talked to each other, the pieces of their life they had shared, that felt like more than just an exchange of services and money. It had felt like… he didn’t know what it felt like. 

“Sorry, I have a lot of clients. Sometimes I forget.” Drake excused, and Harry bristled. 

“Right, of course. See you next time mate.” Harry replied, and he didn’t come out of the bathroom until he was sure Drake had left. 

-

He fought with Malfoy that week, exchanging a stinging hex and words that cut brutally into his psyche. He was so harsh that he almost regretted it when Malfoy’s eyes went wide and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, just like… 

-

He apologized to Drake next time he saw him. 

“You can call me Harry, if you want,” he said. “My name is Harold, but my friends call me Hal. And you can call me Harry.”

Drake’s eyes went wide, and he nodded. “Okay.”

That night, Drake came screaming Harry’s name, and it felt so right that Harry had to fight to keep his mouth to himself. He cried after Drake left, curled up in his too-empty bed.

-

And when Malfoy shoved him out of the way of a hex on a mission, and when he shouted Harry’s name with the exact same intonation, Harry could barely do anything but gawk. Somehow Malfoy knew, and he knew how to hit Harry exactly where it hurt. Somehow Malfoy knew Harry was madly in love with a man he was paying to love him back, and he was rubbing it in Harry’s face. Clearly. Harry ‘spilled’ boilwart into Malfoy’s tea later that evening, and he snickered as the man broke out in hives and would leave him itchy the next few days. 

Drake cancelled on him that weekend.

-

Harry left a few bobbles out the next time Drake came around. A copy of the Quibbler on the coffee table, a remembrall on his bookshelf, his broom next to the coat rack. If Drake noticed, he didn’t say anything, but he did seem rather introspective as Harry slowly dragged him apart piece by piece. His orgasm was quiet and thoughtful, and he stared into Harry’s eyes as though he was searching for something. And then he was gone, and Harry was alone again. 

-

“Did you see Sunday’s Quibbler?” Malfoy asked him, his voice careful. 

“Sure, why?” Harry had answered, his feet on his desk and his mind was back in his flat, with the lights low and his fingers in Drake’s mouth. He was rubbing the knuckle of his thumb over his bottom lip, remembering how Drake bit down on it in the throes of his pleasure. Malfoy was staring. 

“You were on the front page.”

“That happens.” 

“Right.”

-

Harry ordered food before Drake arrived. He had polyjuiced already, his skin still stinging from the horrifying twist of it. He laid the pasta on the table, opened a fancy bottle of muggle wine and prayed that he was making the right call. 

“What’s all this?” Drake had said, and he had smiled brilliantly. 

“Did you eat yet?” Harry asked, and Drake shook his head. “Good.”

Halfway through dinner and two glasses of wine in, Harry had gathered up every ounce of his courage. 

“I’m a wizard,” he blurted, squeezing his eyes shut against the incredulous questions he knew would be coming. When he opened his eyes, Drake looked faint. 

“You are?” he asked thickly, and Harry nodded. “Oh thank Salazar. I thought you might be, but I didn’t want to break any rules by telling someone, and then last week with the broom, I thought for sure… I’m so relieved Harry, you have no idea.” Drake looked as relieved as he claimed, and Harry’s mouth was on his cock faster than either of them could say “lumos.” 

-

The next week, Harry booked Drake for five hours and took him to a coffee shop, where they talked about their childhoods growing up as wizards. Drake grew up pureblood, and he went to Beauxbatons. Harry shared that he was raised by muggles, and he lied, saying he went to Durmstrang. They talked about work, and Harry said he worked in the Ministry, but he didn’t divulge where. They talked about their favorite quidditch teams, their annoying coworkers, their friends and their fears. It was so easy to talk to Drake, to watch him laugh at Harry’s stories about his childhood, to watch him eat biscuits in a way that was so achingly familiar, it was rattling and comforting all at once. And when he watched Drake suck chocolate off his finger, he felt absolutely perfect dragging him out the door and apparating him straight into bed, where Harry finished with Drake’s perfect cock fucking him into oblivion. 

When he woke up, his arms were empty, and he knew what he needed to do. 

-

Malfoy would not stop staring at him. Every time Harry would turn the page of his files, or stretch his arms above his head, Malfoy would drag his eyes over him, and it was unsettling.

“Do you need something Malfoy? Is there a stain on my robes?” Harry asked with venom, and Malfoy pointedly looked away. 

“No, you absolute hobgoblin. You just reminded me of someone, and I was trying to place it.” Malfoy responded coolly.

“Aw, you got a crush on me Malfoy? I’m flattered.” Harry deadpanned, and Malfoy choked on his tea. 

“I do _not_.” Malfoy responded, his voice raspy and thick with distaste. 

“Methinks he doth protest too much,” Ron snickered, and Harry was immensely grateful for the backup. Harry almost missed the flush that crept across Malfoy's face. Almost.

-

“Drake,” Harry said, making the man pause with his hand on the door handle. 

“Harry,” he responded, level as ever, though his cheeks were still flushed and his clothes had just been messily dragged on. 

“We need to talk,” Harry stood and closed the half-open door, trapping Drake in his arms. 

“Do we?” He asked, and his cringe was barely visible, but Harry felt it. 

“We do.”

“Then talk.”

Harry took a deep breath, looked into Drake’s eyes, and let it go. “I don’t want to pay for this anymore,” he said.

“That’s too bad,” Drake responded, tilting his chin up in a way that was all too familiar. “I like you, you’re a good client.”

“No, don’t play dumb.” Harry seethed. “I love you, I think. And I know this is stupid, and you don’t really know me, but I can’t pay you for this anymore.” 

Drake looked as though he had swallowed a blast-ended skrewt. “I- I’m sorry Harry.”

“You don’t feel the same way.” Harry whispered, and Drake nodded solemnly. “Is it… someone else?” He asked, against his better judgement. There were pretty crystalline tears trapped in Drake’s eyelashes, and Harry hated himself. Drake nodded again. “Is it Harry?” Harry asked, and Drake's gasp stabbed him harshly in the chest. He stepped back from the door, and his own tears rolled down his face. Drake looked broken in front of him, and Harry sat on the bed, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. “Okay. I’m okay, you should go. Goodbye Drake,” he stuttered, and Drake slipped out the door and out of his life. 

-

Two weeks later, Harry and Malfoy were scheduled for a stakeout together. When Harry handed Malfoy the folded card with his flat address on it, Malfoy choked. 

“Is this some sort of sick,” Malfoy coughed hard, “some sick joke Potter?”

“No? It’s an address. My address.” Harry hated him more than he had the words for. 

“Yeah, right, like I’m supposed to fucking believe that.” Malfoy tossed the scrap in the trash, and Harry glowered. 

“It’s the fucking truth Malfoy, and if you think I’m lying, then I guess you’ll just be leaving me to deal with criminals on my own, which would look pretty bad on your yearly evals, wouldn’t it.” Harry prickled. He was feeling even more bitter towards Malfoy since… well, since Drake left. “I’ll write it down again,” Harry sighed, and he got out another scrap. 

“Don’t bother.” Malfoy was tense. “I know it.” 

-

When the knock on the door came, Harry felt his heart leap into his throat. But it was just Malfoy, looking shaken. His eyes were wide as he crossed the threshold, and he looked at Harry as if he had grown a horn. They stood in silence for a moment, and Malfoy just stared hard, at Harry, at the chairs by the coffee table, at the door to the bedroom, at the kitchen counters that were covered in mugs, Drake’s shirt that hung untouched over the back of a kitchen chair. 

“You, Harry Potter, are a fucking idiot,” Malfoy breathed. 

“Excuse me?” Harry responded, his insecurities dragging out the worst side of him. 

“Was it a rough breakup, Potter?” Malfoy said, pointing at the firewhiskey that was open on the counter. Harry wanted to smash his face in. 

“You don’t know anything about me Malfoy,” Harry barked. “And it wasn’t a breakup, it was the end of a contract. Suck my dick, arsehole.” But Malfoy was smiling--no--laughing. 

“I don’t know a thing about you…” He echoed, and he pointed his wand directly at Harry’s chest. “When’s the last time you took Polyjuice, Potter? Was it two weeks ago? When you told _Drake_ that you were in _love_ with him?”

Harry felt his face crumple. “How did you…” Harry started, but his tears were choking him, and he couldn’t finish. Draco looked shocked, and then he rushed forward. 

“No, no no no, Harry you absolute obnoxious idiot, don’t cry,” Malfoy said, wrapping his arms around Harry and running a hand down his back in a perfect recreation of Drake’s soothing motions. Harry wanted to rip Malfoy’s throat “Harry, you fool, look at me,” Malfoy tore Harry’s hands away from his eyes. “Harry. What’s my name?”

“Malfoy, leave me alone,” Harry blubbed, drowning in his own sorrow.

“Harry Potter. Tell me my full name right this instant or I’ll hex your bollocks off.”

“You’re Drac- _oh_!” Harry didn’t get to finish his sentence, because Malfoy’s--Draco’s-- lips were on his, and they were kissing, and his hands felt so familiar, so memorable on Harry’s face, and his hips and his back and his hair and… _Oh my **god.**_

“Drake-” Harry breathed, and the mouth was on his neck now. 

“Draco,” Draco growled, and Harry shivered. 

“I’m so fucking stupid…” Harry clutched at Draco’s shirt, basking in the heat of him. “It’s-” Harry pulled back. “Why were you working in a sex dungeon?” He asked.

“Why did you go to a sex dungeon?” Draco retaliated, and Harry saw his point. “We still need to do our jobs, Harry,” Draco smiled, running a hand along Harry’s jaw. 

“Okay, yeah we do, but will you stay after?” Harry asked, and Draco blessedly nodded.

They passed the rest of their time on the job in deafening silence, both of them watching down the street for any sign of a scuffle. At twelve, their backup came, and they were off the clock again, but the quiet still reigned. 

“I know I’m not… what you expected. But I’m everything you know. I promise.” Draco broke the silence carefully, and Harry shuddered. Draco was everything he had wanted with Drake and more, and it had taken the bloke pushing him to tears to realize it. 

“Why did you turn me down, when I told you… you know,” Harry ground out, hanging his head in shame. It was still difficult to recognize that all the things Drake did and said were just Draco, and it hurt to be so vulnerable in front of him. 

“I was in love with my coworker,” Draco replied, and he sighed when Harry slumped. “I had been pretending, pretending that you were really you, because I thought it would help get you out of my system. And it didn’t.”

“Me? Why?” Harry looked up at Draco, and he saw familiar fiery grey eyes, and life stilled to a grinding halt.

“I dunno, I just like you,” Draco bit his bottom lip, and Harry wanted to bite it too.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asked quietly.

“Please do,” Draco responded, and Harry brushed his lips ever so softly over Draco’s, testing the waters that had previously gone uncharted. Draco leaned into the touch, pulling Harry to him, and the kiss went from chaste to brutal and violent, teeth clashing. They stumbled into the bedroom, lips locked and hands groping. Harry snapped and their clothes were gone, his hands free to roam all the skin he knew so well and simultaneously not at all. He groaned as Draco’s slim hand grasped at his cock, and he arched when Draco bit down on the spot of Harry’s collar that practically belonged to him. This was exactly where Harry belonged. 

They slotted together like puzzle pieces when Draco laid him down, and kissed into his mouth so feverishly that Harry shivered. There was no power struggle this time, no one-upmanship, only the burning slide of skin on skin on skin, and Harry’s breath caught every time Draco ground down into him. He was near the edge when Draco wrapped his hand around the base of Harry’s cock, squeezing and keeping the orgasm at bay. Harry was wrecked. 

Draco peppered kisses down his body and engulfed Harry’s cock in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue in the way that made Harry scream. “Draco I can’t, I’m gonna-” And the hand was around the base again, stopping the burst of pleasure before it could rip through Harry. Then the hand was moving, and Harry was so painfully close that he saw stars. 

“Not yet Harry, not yet,” Draco’s voice drifted over him like a dream, and Harry shuddered. 

“Please,” he whined, his voice broken and strange in his own ears. He felt like he was ten feet above himself, his eyes shut tight against the sensations that threatened to overwhelm him. His fingers buzzed, and he dragged them through the head of hair on his chest. The hair was unusually soft, but it felt nice, perfect even. Draco was dragging his tongue over Harry’s chest, and though Harry’s breathing felt light and even, it skipped every time Draco brushed his tongue against his sensitive nipples. After what seemed like hours, Harry felt a finger press against him, and he was pulled back under the ocean of sensations. He didn’t register the stretching, or Draco’s preparations, but he did feel it when the man over him slid into him, brushing his prostate and making him hiss deliciously. “Pleasepleaseplease,” he muttered to himself, and he cried out when Draco rocked into him. It felt better than magic, better than butterbeer on a rainy day, better than anything. And when Draco leaned down and kissed Harry’s neck in just the right spot Harry’s whole body tensed.

“Alright Harry, come, you’re so good, come for me.” Draco whispered against his lips, and Harry burst into a million shards of glass as he came, spurting cum between them and blacking out as the sensations drowned him. Faintly, over the waves of pleasure, he heard someone whisper, “I love you.”

When he came to, he was clean and wrapped in his covers. But he was also alone in his bed, the lights off, and he felt his heart collapse around itself. He was filled with indescribable dread, eating him from the inside, and then the door opened. Draco Malfoy stood there, backlit by the lights in the living room, a glass of water in his delicate hand. Harry took the glass gratefully, and then Draco was with him, wrapped around him perfectly, as though he was made to be there. Draco kissed the nape of his neck and Harry breathed in the sweet smell of jasmine as he fell asleep.

-

When he woke up, his arms were wrapped tightly around a sleeping Draco Malfoy, and he was so quintessentially happy that he kissed every ounce of Draco’s skin he could find, until they were cuddled up and giggling in the early morning light.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! Thanks for reading! Please leave me comments and Kudos, they fuel my soul, seriously. And if you love Drarry and slow burns, go take a look at my fic "Crossing the Stream." Thank you all, have a lovely day! xoxo


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